I'll Be Home For Christmas
by A Grayer Shade of Gray
Summary: Vendetta is surrounded by Christmas and with out her
1. I'll Be Home For Christmas Part 1

Around Vendetta it was Christmas time; the lights glittered in endless streams of colour and blinking lights, children and adults alike were happy and joyous about the season, eager to be with their loved ones. Vendetta scoffed at the emotions of the people, her eyes cold and heartless as she walked past them, their smiling faces wishing her a Merry Christmas. She knew only one man who was out there who could make this Christmas worth wile, and it wasn't Santa Clause.

The original Punisher, Frank Castle, had been absent for months now, since July. He had been arrested, charged and convicted of over five hundred murders, though not all of them were his. She hung her head slightly, rounding a corner, knowing that he had taken her murders and with the knowledge of the New York State Legal system Vendetta had, she knew where he was now. After all, New York was a death penalty state.

She was heading home, her work for the night was done and another mob boss who chose to buy and sell women as slaves was dead, the women free to return to where ever they came from, or take up residence in good old New York City; either way she didn't care. 

The large square appearance of the warehouse once used by the presumed late Frank Castle laid on the horizon of the Brooklyn sky line and as she made we way through the alley way she could smell the stench in the chill air as it blew off the water way. She wrinkled her nose and continued on her pace.

The warehouse front door opened for her as she stepped inside, closing it and then turning on the various security systems that had been in place for almost as long as she had been alive. The warehouse had been divided into the various rooms that Frank had inhabited for the last ten years, and Vendetta had for the six months since his disappearance. She had gained access when they had allied to take down a common enemy, the Nicari family from Manhattan, and since then, she had found herself drawn to this place. 

Everything in this place reminded her of the man who once lived here, and for the last little while it hadn't bothered her, but with the ever-approaching holiday season, and Christmas less than a week away, she was starting to feel it. She actually… Missed… him. She sighed to herself, taking the coat off her shoulders and letting it fall over the ruins of a sofa that was long ago due to be junked. The tall woman, now dressed in the typical, almost uniformed, Punisher clothing, the tee shirt and a pair of black jeans, wandered through the large, empty building.

Vendetta bored of her wanderings; there was little for her to be entertained by in the beginning, and over the months that she had inhabited the building, the number of things to draw her amusement dwindled to nothing. She sighed and resigned herself to sleep.

She drew the black cotton t-shirt up over her head, red locks spilling out over her pale shoulders, her eyes closing for a moment as she shook her hair free. The shirt found it's way to the floor, lying in a heap of other laundry that needed to be washed, either for bloodstains or the scent of sweat. She groaned and stretched out her body. She was in fine shape, but still it hurt sometimes and her muscles would get stiff often if she didn't have a good and physical confrontation that night. Her slender fingers pushed the zipper fly of her black denim jeans down and she sighed, slipping from them and into a pair of well-worn shorts. 

Wearing only a bra and a pair of shorts, she crawled into the stained and soiled bed that once belonged to the presumably late Frank Castle, her hair lose around her shoulders and draping over the pillow softly. Her tired eye lids fell over her soft blue eyes and it didn't take her long to fall asleep, even amid the stale smell of Frank that had still yet had been removed. 


	2. I'll Be Home For Christmas Part 2

Frank Castle moved through the darkness, the long tails of his wool trench coat whipping around him as the snow covered his shoulders and hair with it's cold, light frosting. Around him was his town and he was back in his element, back from what was presumed by many as the dead. He had been on death row, but some how managed to escape the maximum security prison and was now back in New York, more specifically he was back in Brooklyn, heading towards the warehouse that he called "home".

The night was cold and his breath steamed as it came out of his mouth, but the cold no longer bothered him. After Vietnam and all the other shit that he had been through, there was almost nothing now that would break the calm exterior of the man of the steel heart. 

            On the horizon was the warehouse, and oddly enough a light still was on. He presumed that it was just a measure that Microchip had programmed in before her had died that Frank had yet to find. He groaned and moved towards the door, pressing in the right numbers on the illuminated keypad. The door groaned and with a rusty sound they opened, revealing a warm and well lit area. 

Confused enough, Frank walked into the warmth of his warehouse, looking around with a raised eyebrow, spotting the trench coat that laid on the back of his decrepit couch. "Vendetta…" he muttered to himself, picking up the soft, Kevlar lined coat. From even the distance of his hands, he could smell the scent of her on the coat. It was almost comforting, after so long. He almost smiled to himself. 

"So she's still here?" he thought to himself, dropping the coat on the chair and starting to undress himself from his outside wear. His strong and thick fingers tugged at the tips of the leather gloves, pushing them into the pockets of his heavy wool coat once they were removed from his calloused hands. The thick fingers of his right hand pushed at the buttons undoing them and opening the front of his coat. Underneath he did not wear his usual Punisher t-shirt as would be expected, but instead of the white skull on black cotton, there was a prison uniform shirt and a pair of faded blue denim jeans. Written on the pocket on the left side of his shirt was his number: 1984113. 

The shirt was pale denim as well, buttoned up the front with pearly white buttons. There were twelve of them, and slowly they became undone as he made his made his way through his warehouse. His shirt now hung open over his rather built chest, the fine definitions of his pecks and abs as he slowly and methodically went through and checked every one of the rooms. 

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and there was no sign of the red haired woman who, despite himself, Frank actually had to admit he missed. The only thing of hers that he had found so far was the coat, and the contents with in which were two Berettas and a hunting blade, which was actually his from his days as a Navy Seal in Vietnam. 

"Where is she?" he asked to himself, wondering aloud as he pulled the sweat stained prison shirt off his body, revealing the fine muscles of his upper body covered with scars, both fresh and old, as well as a few new scratches. It was bugging him. Her scent was hanging in the air, or was it just his imagination? It could be possible that his own loneliness had driven him to insanity as he had experienced the same thing when Maria, his wife, had been killed. Frank closed his eyes. 

"Don't compare them," he warned himself, knowing that doing so would only be dangerous, not only the memories that he had of his wife, but the perception of the other woman. They were nothing alike, other than the fact that some how both had managed to get under his skin and find away to endear their selves to the cold hearted Frank Castle. 

Vendetta was harsh, Maria was soft; Vendetta was violent, aggressive and brash, Maria was none of those things. He sighed and pressed the heel of his left hand into his forehead, trying to press the thoughts of the two women from his head. 

Frank ran his hands through his hair and over his unshaven face, feeling the few days of stubble that had amounted on his dark, chiseled chin and the flat planes of his cheeks. The short and scratchy hairs on his cheeks rubbed against his calloused palms, his jet-black hair curling over his thick fingers and laying in a tousled mass over his head. Many men would look worn and tired like this, but Frank on the other hand did not. He had the size and carried himself in a manner that was simply accentuated by the stubble and roughness of his face.

He collapsed into a large armchair, his head laying back against the cushioned back, arms on the rests. His hands clenched the ends of the armrests tightly, his knuckles white with the pressure. He was the Punisher; he wasn't supposed to have feelings like this. Sure, he was male and yes he had slept with many women since the death of his wife, but he had never felt anything for them and certainly not anything like this. He felt towards Vendetta the way he would towards and equal, and that she pretty much was. 

He sighed and stood up, spotting the light spilling out through a crack in the door. It wasn't too bright, but it was brighter than the room he was in. She must be asleep, he thought, and with that in mind he proceeded to the bedroom.


	3. I'll Be Home For Christmas Part 3

She laid in the bed, her body wrapped in the soiled sheets that still retained his scent, but in her mind, in her dreams, she was in a place far different.

The lightning was harsh as Vendetta's eyes opened to it and she was met with the stern faces of the prison guards. She was not there, not in the room with them, but behind glass. She could see them standing around someone, but who? Vendetta's heart raced as the men parted and she saw the grim, solid form of who was in the stretcher, bound to the table as if he were little more than an animal. It was him; Frank. 

It was his execution she was dreaming of, the partitioning, one way glass, the prison guards surrounding his bound form; it could be no less. She watched with grim wonder, her eyebrows furrowing together as she wanted to scream, wanted to break through the glass. She wanted to do so many things but found none of them worked. Vendetta was helpless, once again, like she had been so long ago when her journey to becoming one of the notable vigilante of New York began. 

Her hand pressed against the glass as Vendetta watched on in horror as a man dressed in all black made his processional through the gallery and into where Frank stood like a bound animal. She could feel the tension in the room and with bitter eyes she watched as the priest read Frank the last rights and nodded to the warden. "No," was all she could muster, the word coming out sounding as if it were dry, lifeless and almost inaudible. Still, not a head turned towards her as she watched, the rest blind to her appearance in their room, callous to her intrusion on the neo-ceremony of death; all except Frank who appeared to be watching her.

His ice blue eyes watched her, burning gaze unblinking and staring directly into her own eyes. It was a penetrating stare which ripped her apart from the inside as she stood there, helpless to stop them, unable to help the man who had helped her in the past. She watched in horror from the other side of the glass, feeling the smooth, lifeless form under her hands as she tried to press forward, trying to break through the shatter resistant material.

"Frank..." she whispered as she could see the man edging towards him, he had a series of needles in his possession and the way he looked made the young woman feel nervous. She could feel her palms getting sweaty as she watched with dreaded anticipation. What was going to happen to Frank? Was this real? 

"Frank, no," she managed again, her voice was a little louder now, stronger, as it rose from her throat. Still, the resounding cries of the young woman fell upon deaf ears, silenced to Frank by the glass plate that separated them. The tension was killing her, her breathing was shortening. What was going to happen next?


	4. I'll Be Home For Christmas Part 4

Frank walked slowly through the room, the light was a shining beacon for him, it showed that someone else was really here and that he wasn't completely insane but more so, it told him he wasn't completely alone. He was almost reluctant to walk into the room, pausing by the door as if to wait. 

He knew what she'd look like, laying in his bed, but was he prepared for that? He hadn't been with a woman in over two years now, would he be able to just look at her, fragile and helplessly asleep, and not do anything? More so than that, after viewing her like that, what would he see when they encountered after she awoke? Would he see the neo-Amazonian vigilante? Or would he see the sleeping maiden, innocent looking amid the stains of his sheets? 

He shook the thoughts from his head, they were useless. Of course he would see the tough, harsh Vendetta, the face that she showed every one with out fear, but something inside of him told the man that there was really much more to the enigmatic woman than she would ever let show. 

The door creaked as he pushed it open, his eyes cast down on the floor not willing to look immediately at the woman as she laid on her back, arms spread a little. She looked as if she had been tossed down onto the bed in a fit of passion. Her body was poised, full of grace even in this awkward position and Frank could once again see similarities between the woman in his bed and the woman in his heart, his wife, Maria.

A seemingly unearthly grace fluttered about both women, making him want to reach out and touch every inch of their pale skin, both women were very pale, to tell them that he would protect them from anything. This was madness, of course. Maria was dead, he could not protect her, or his children, and Vendetta was the last person who would ever need his protection, or at least the last person who would ask for it. Still, he couldn't help it, he would always have the protective instinct that all men shared, wanting to conserve what they loved most, even if the love was only the love of hate, the love of the fight, as it was with Vendetta.

His gaze slowly rose from the ground to look over the bed, first catching a glimpse of the foot of the bed, her boots were resting there, just on the ground in a haphazard manner. Moving up the bed, just resting on the edge of the mattress were the heavy blankets that she had kicked off sometime in the course of her rest. He watched her, careful eyes taking in the vision of this young woman, so small, so gentle, so at peace with the world in her sleep. His eyes rose over her body, the stained sheets wrapping her nearly nude body in their soiled grasp, encasing her in the memories of what had transpired in the sheets in the time before. Her upper body was almost bare, a black sports bra kept the woman's swelling breasts from his view, just barely holding them back as she slept. 

Her body flinched and Frank, instinctively reached out, but did not touch her. He stopped himself from that, relaxing his touch and standing, nervous to know what was going on. Was she alright? She was dreaming, he could tell by the jerky reactions, and it looked to Frank as if the dream was a less than pleasant one. 

Her crimson coloured hair spilled out over the pillow almost as if blood was spilt. It wasn't her natural hair colour, and judging by her roots, she was naturally fairly dark. Vendetta's head turned a little, moving from facing Frank to facing away from him. What was she dreaming about? he asked himself over and over again, still he came up with no answer for his troubles, or her's.

Her soft voice broke the concentration of his thought as if it were plate glass. "No..." She spoke, but the word was so soft, her lips barely parted to give the one syllable word breath and life. This alarmed Frank, for what was she dreaming about that she would be so distressed as to be nearly mute. Another step and he inched closer, edging closer, but not trying to infringe upon the sleeping woman's space. 

What came next hit him like a slap in the face and he stood stunned for a moment, blinking his ice blue eyes in disbelief.

"Frank..." her voice rose a little, the distressed tone more needy, more desperate. "Frank, no..." Her body was moving a little more, the twitches becoming more frequent, more violent as Frank moved closer to her. 

What was going on? he asked himself, feeling a slight panic rising in his body, though he was too stiff, he could not move, could not help. He stood there, watching the young woman fight an invisible force. Was she fighting him? Why else would she say his name? And why call him "Frank", he had never heard her use his first name, she had always referred to him as "Castle", never "Frank", not until today as it would appear. 

Maybe absence made the heart grow fonder, he thought to himself, still trying to muster the courage to step closer to her. Or was that Absinthe...

"Frank no, please! Please don't! Stop!"


	5. I'll Be Home For Christmas Part 5

"Frank, no, please!" she begged the guards who still could not hear her pleas for all her attempts. "Please don't! Stop!" She was frantic now. Vendetta looked through the glass, her eyes begging for someone to see hear, to hear her. Why weren't they listening to her? Why couldn't she stop them? 

She watched in horror as the man with the needles started his work, preparing Frank's left arm for the first injection. She watched, her eyes begging for something, someone, to put an end to this. She could see Frank's eyes still. They were open and clear, gazing back at her through the one way glass. Why? What was going on? 

His eyes, clear as crystal, starred at her and sent shivers down her body as she tried to hold back her cries, finally knowing what was going on. It was Frank's execution, or what she presumed was the execution. 

This rationalization hit Vendetta with the force of a swift, hard, uppercut to the gut and she stood, windless, blinking blindly through the glass. He was so calm, how could he be so calm? Vendetta caught her breath and pressed her hands against the plate glass, looking through with almost puppy dog eyes, blinking at what she saw going on. She tried to scream, but there was no voice left in her throat, nothing left for her to shout out. She could only watch, she could watch, and wait, knowing what came next.

He looked at her, his eyes were softer now, looking at her, burning into her's as she watched helplessly from behind the glass, her hands pressed against the cool, smooth surface. "No," her mouth formed the words but no sound came out, not so much as a whisper as she felt the tears, why was she crying? Did she actually care for this man? It was obvious, now, to her that she did, no matter how much she wanted to deny it; she cared for him.

The needle was in his arm now, and the chemicals were starting to move through the artificial veins of the IV, moving into his blood system. Vendetta closed her eyes, she could hear laughter, the guards were laughing, as Frank died. Her hands clamped over her ears as she tried to shut it out, turn the laughter off. This was terrible, Frank and her had made their lives easier, given them less problems to deal with, and they laugh as they kill him?

She fell to her knees, ears covered with her hands as her eyes clenched shut, biting back against the shouts. She cared for him, she did! But right now, that realization was not enough, she couldn't stand this. They were laughing, and he was dying. He couldn't die.

"Frank, please..." she said, her voice was soft, low, broken like that of a child who was lost in the world, which she was. She no longer had her inspiration, he was gone.


	6. I'll Be Home For Christmas Part 6

Frank watched, his eyes barely open as he heard her whimper, she was crying. He wondered what was going on in that poor head of her's to create such a response. He sat at the edge of the bed and looked down on her, his eyes were crystal clear, the colour of a blue sky on a clear day, as they took in her sleeping visage. His hand moved from resting on his thigh to brush her cheek as he looked at her prone body. 

"Frank, please..." she said and he looked at her, raising an eyebrow. A smile played on his lips as the hard exterior of Frank Castle cracked. He wasn't the Punisher right now, and she wasn't Vendetta, but he had no idea what he'd call her other than Ven, she had never actually told him her real name. 

"Sh..." he whispered to her as he brushed her cheek with a warm hand, looking down into her eyes as the lids fluttered open and close. "Ven, it's okay, I'm right here..." he said, as if trying to calm a child. He watched her eyes as they opened and looked back at him, their jade surface reflective and receptive, not cold or unwelcoming.

"You're alive," she said, her breath soft, her words softer. How could this be? She thought to herself as she blinked, watching him. He wasn't dead, which meant it was just a dream. The Punisher was still alive, and the pair of them, and their rivalry, could live as well. 

She wanted to hug him; wrap her arms around his body and burry her face against his shoulder, but she knew better than to try that. What had gone on to this point was enough to put a stress on the professional side of what ever most people would call their relationship, but if she were to show actual emotion for him, that would add a whole new dimension to it. 

"Yeah, I am," he said, smirking a little as he looked down at her nearly naked form. "And you're in my boxers." He watched her body, the magnificent body. It screamed "touch me" to him, her curves, the smooth skin, every thing; but he resisted. He couldn't let himself slip into that, fall into that trap. He was stronger than that.

Vendetta shook her head. "I thought... I thought you were dead," she said, still in shock from his return. "I guess you want to lay down... I'll go..." she spoke in broken words, knowing that he'd probably want to sleep in his own bed, after all, this was his place. 

She slid over to the other side, preparing to crawl out from the bed. She would get herself redressed and then find a cheap motel for the night, preferably a place that accepted cash with out question. She felt his warm hand slip from her face, moving to rest on her wrist. 

"You don't have to leave," he said, slipping into the other side of the bed. "We're grown adults, I'm sure we can get along long enough to share a bed." Frank smiled at her, and surprisingly enough, she smiled back. Something had changed, for both of them, and maybe it was for the better. 

Vendetta settled into her side of the bed as she sighed, slipping easily back into her sleep, this time, a dreamless sleep as Frank laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what would happen next. It seemed that the dynamic between the two Punishers was always changing, some days they would be close, almost to the point of making Frank think he could just lean in and kiss her, other days... Well, other days Frank was closer to shooting her and leaving the young woman for dead. He was sure she had the same feelings, but then again, he was also sure that she would be happy to think of him as dead, which has proven to be a false thought.

Soon enough, sleep claimed Castle as well, and as the sun rose above the city, the two vigilantes slept, as the city that they so jealously protected awoken to find itself once again with two Punishers, ready to punish the guilty, and carry out a vendetta on those who have done wrong.


End file.
